The news that two of the Twelve Shields had already fallen spread like wildfire across the coalition.
Hope—true hope—flared again in the hearts of the weary mages.
Momentum mattered. A mage who fought with fire in their heart could unleash twice their power. One who fought in despair, even if stronger, would falter. And now, in the shadow of Alvarez's overwhelming numbers, that momentum was everything.
The Shields and Zeref himself were the keystones of this war. If Fairy Tail had already toppled two, then victory—though distant—was no longer impossible.
Northern Battlefield
The snow was stained with blood. Sting gritted his teeth.
"The casualties are too high… we can't keep this up."
"There are just too many enemies!" Lector wailed beside him.
Rogue's voice was quiet but firm. "Even so, we can't let them advance any further."
Frosch nodded, puffing up bravely. "Fro thinks so too!"
Minerva, calm even amid the chaos, cast her gaze toward the center of the battlefield.
"That monster among them… he's not just one of the Twelve Shields. He's a demon of the Book of Zeref."
"What?!" Sting's eyes widened.
Minerva had once walked the line between guilds, between light and darkness. After Tartaros fell, she wandered, half broken, until Sting himself found her and brought her back. Transformed by Tartaros' experiments, her body could sense the stench of those demons better than most.
And the aura radiating from that Shield… it chilled even her.
"He isn't just like the Tartaros demons," she warned. "He's worse. Stronger. He can wield more than just their curses."
Mira's voice rang out, amused. "Another demon from the Book of Zeref? Now that's interesting."
Heads turned—Erza, Mira, Gajeel, Wendy, and the others had arrived, deposited by Mest. The poor teleporter lay panting on the ground, pale and spent.
Erza's eyes hardened. "The first master sensed this front was faltering. We're here to turn it around."
"And the guild?" Rogue asked.
"Still guarded," Erza replied firmly. "The best way to protect Fairy Tail is to crush every enemy before they ever reach it."
Mira's lips curled into a fierce smile. "Then leave this demon to me."
Eastern Battlefield
Four figures blocked the road—Jura, Wolfheim, Warrod, and Hyberion, Ishgar's proud Wizard Saints.
"From here," Jura said coldly, "you go no further."
Jacob cracked his gloves, but it was August who stepped forward. His eyes, heavy with centuries of wisdom and sorrow, regarded the Saints like insects.
"His Majesty will have the Heart of Fairy. And I… will see how far Ishgar's so-called strongest have come."
Even his allies blinked in surprise. August, the Sorcerer King himself, was choosing to act. Britney sighed as if pitying the Saints. She knew too well what was coming.
Wolfheim snarled, his temper flaring. "You think we'll just roll over?!" His body swelled, transforming into his orc form, and with a roar he slammed his fist toward the Shield trio.
"Boom!!!" The strike shook the earth, blasting stone and snow into the air.
But August merely lifted his staff. A golden shield of magic absorbed the blow like it was nothing.
"Rough," he said dispassionately. "Brute force. Without value."
"You bastard!" Wolfheim hammered his fists again and again against the barrier.
Jura moved quickly, raising his own defenses. "Iron Wall!"
Light gathered at the tip of August's staff. With a flick, he loosed a beam of destruction.
"Boom!!!" Jura's Iron Wall shattered in an instant, and Wolfheim was hurled backward with a cry of pain. Only Jura's magic had kept the blow from maiming him outright.
The Saints staggered, their faces grim. This… was the power of the strongest Shield. The Magic King.